Begrudgingly Yours
by ForgoBoredom
Summary: Three years after the war, a pair of war heros find themselves hiding in the library of 12 Grimmauld Place. SSHG
1. Chapter 1

Severus Snape was a miserable sod.

Most would've thought that with the war over and the ever-constant threat of death gone, the man would lighten up a bit. But no, Severus was quite happy being miserable thank you very much.

Which was exactly why he was lurking in Grimmauld Place's library and not downstairs with the rest of the order being fed to bursting by Molly Weasley. He was lurking mind you- not hiding. The distinction was rather important there. Severus Snape did not _hide_. (Well, ignoring the several months after the war he'd spent licking his wounds, but that had been an entirely different situation.)

Damn Minerva for dragging him into this mess in the first place.

They met for weekly chess matches at Hogwarts on Thursday afternoon. Severus had begrudgingly agreed to the arrangement after months of owls pecking at his window at the arse crack of dawn. Sleep was a commodity he had little of, after all. In their most recent match that previous Thursday, Minerva had slaughtered him ruthlessly with a well constructed trap. He'd been about to hand over his galleon to the victor, when she'd made an offer.

Keep the galleon and come to the monthly order meeting.

The old witch knew him too well. He'd spent most of his award money on starting up his potion business and things were still slow as he collected contracts. He was currently negotiating with St. Mungo's, but until then was still living off baked beans and toast.

She'd sweetened the deal with several galleons of her own, so he'd really had no choice in the matter and had agreed, although not without a suitable amount of grumbling and murmured curses on his part.

Humphing under his breath, he turned the page of his book and scanned it ruthlessly for information he could pluck out and use. There were several errors in the old tome, minor things that barely mattered, but he itched to take out his quill and slash the offending words in half. If they had been his own books, he wouldn't have hesitated, but Potter, while having likely never read a book, wouldn't appreciate Severus vandalizing his things.

A paragraph of interest caught his eye and he leant closer, his greasy hair touching the page. Running his thumb across his lip, he hummed and turned to his notes, scribbling down the reference for later. The process continued for a little while. Turn a page, glare at the inaccuracies, jot down the vaguely interesting parts, turn the page again.

The door opened, interrupting his work. With a snarl at the ready, he looked over and found someone standing in the door frame. And just his luck, it was the Order's resident bookworm; Granger.

The three years since the war hadn't done anything for her. Somehow her dreadful hair was even worse than back then, still floating around her head in an awful, dark cloud. Although, the reading glasses dangling from her neck were new. Served her right for all those years of having her nose buried in books. Not that he was much better in that respect, but at least he had the decency to read in private.

At the sight of him there, she visibly recoiled, her face falling.

"Ah, Professor Snape. I didn't realise you were here," she said, fiddling with her robes and peering around the door frame.

Severus sat up straighter to compose himself. "Miss Granger. Might I remind you I haven't taught anyone in almost three years, or has that fact escaped you?" he sneered, hoping to scare her off so he could return to his peace. Thanks to the bloody snake his voice was scratchier and weaker than it'd once been, but it still did it's job in unnerving his targets.

Granger seemed jilted and she awkwardly stood there. "Se- god, no that's too weird," she muttered to herself. Thank Merlin for small mercies, he would rather cuddle an acromantula than hear her use his given name. "What should I call you then?"

"Master Snape will do," he drawled, happy to see the line of annoyance between her brows grow deeper.

She stared at him for a while and then she clenched her jaw and took a couple tentative steps into the room. "_Snape_. Will there be an issue if I sit in here?" Her voice was cold and harsh this time, but Severus was mainly amused by her use of his surname. Finally speaking like her peers after all these years?

Crossing his legs, he considered her with a reproachful glance. "It's not my house, _Granger_. You can sit where you want, but it would be unwise to get on my nerves."

Funnily enough, he seemed to be getting on her nerves in return as she matched his heated glare, straightened her shoulders and marched to the armchair on the opposite side of the room. She sat there and grabbed the nearest book, resolutely turning her body away from him. Severus continued to watch her for a moment as she slipped on her reading glasses and buried her nose into the book's musty pages as she had done so many times before.

Once he got bored of glaring at her, he let out a small sniff and went back to his own reading. Well, he tried anyway. Now the room wasn't empty, every slight rustle of fabric or turn of a page disturbed him. Several times, he lost his line and had to begin the paragraph again. Even the sound of the of the witch's breaths grated on his ear.

"Must you breathe so loudly? You sound like an ogre with a cold," he snapped, clenching his quill in his hand.

She scowled at him over the top of her book. "Your angry muttering is far more distracting than my breathing," she replied. The underlying message was unspoken, but heard loud and clear. _So fuck off_.

Severus rolled his eyes and did his damnedest to ignore her. He really did try. His resolve only lasted five minutes or so until the cord snapped again.

"What did the dunderheads do to annoy you so much that pestering me was the better alternative?" he asked, snapping his book shut.

This time she didn't look up, but from the small slither of cheek he could make out from behind her bush of hair, he saw her frown. "It was busy in there and Ron is-" She cut herself off and dug herself deeper into the chair.

"Being the dismal excuse of a wizard he usually is?" he suggested.

She glanced at him that time. "He's a prat," she spat, with a surprising amount of venom.

Well at least they agreed about one thing.

"Good to know nothing has changed then," Severus said, flicking through his day's notes.

The silence that followed was unlike the one before. This one was heavy and tense, and it only seemed to pull tighter and tighter until Granger let out a frustrated growl.

"The bastard dated me for two years. Two years!" she started, throwing down the book onto a table. "He cheats on me with some fangirl. Then what did he do!? He fucking proposed to me and was _shocked_ when I told him to shove a broomstick up his arse!"

Severus raised an eyebrow at the outburst, but it didn't stop there. If anything she only seemed to grow more aggravated.

"It's been five months since we broke up and suddenly he thinks that we're somehow friends again! 'Mione this, 'Mione that. I hate being called 'Mione! Harry isn't helping either. He's too busy snogging Ginny and asking me to be civil towards Ronald. Argh!" She pulled her hair and slumped back in the chair, letting out a long, pained groan.

As amused as Severus was, he couldn't help but stoke the fire. "How enthralling. I must say, listening to a teenage girl's love life is exactly what I wanted to be doing with my Saturday night. Granger, could you kindly leave your dramatics to someone that cares?"

The look she sent him was filthy. "I'm twenty two."

Now that caught his attention. "How exactly? Your seventh year was only three years ago."

Her eyes widened and her face lost some of its palour. "Time turner abuse," she mumbled. "In my third year. Started as extra sleep and next thing I knew, I was several months older than intended."

Damn Dumbledore and his meddling. Of course he'd let his precious Gryffindors play with the very fabric of reality! He glared at her for a moment, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. The war was over and the old coot was dead.

He'd killed him after all.

Suddenly Severus's mood grew worse still as the whispers of intrusive thoughts sunk in. Murderer. Coward. Traitor. He wanted to go home and forget he'd ever stepped foot in this place. He wanted to down a bottle of fire whiskey and let oblivion take him.

Why had he let Minerva drag him here?

Why wouldn't people just leave him alone to his potions and books?

"Sir? Er- Snape? Are you...okay?"

Severus snapped out of his thoughts suddenly, like being slapped. Granger was staring at him with a slight look of concern and he realised he'd been staring at the floor for a number of minutes.

Swallowing, he picked up his book. "Return to your reading, Granger. Stop bothering me." Even to his own ears, he sounded tired.

Neither of them spoke again that evening. Much to his relief, Granger left the room when the first goodbyes could be heard from downstairs. Severus hung around a little longer to pack away his things and contemplate stealing a book or two. They likely wouldn't be missed, but the thought of having something of Black's in his private space left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Anything that would make him think of the mangy dog was unwelcome in his home.

After that, he snuck downstairs with the silent steps he'd perfected years ago and disappeared into the night with little more than a pop.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione rubbed her eyes and yawned as she arrived.

As per usual, the ministry archives had that deathly stillness to them and a hollowness to the air. The foyer was empty and for a moment she listened, hearing nothing but silence and the ticking of the clock. Magic was present here and she was almost certain that the place's oddness was more than just physical.

Despite the unnerving nature of this department, Hermione had grown attached to it. After finishing her charms mastery, the archives had appealed to her. The place was quiet. The job was low stress. And there were plenty of opportunities for her to get lost in weird and wonderful rabbit holes of knowledge. It seemed like the perfect habitat for a bookworm like herself, while she worked on her personal projects in her free time. It wasn't as if she had much of a social life after all.

From behind the inquiry desk, a man appeared. Claude Stebbins, much like the department he ran, was odd. On first glance, he was just a man in his forties with muted, reddish hair and a love for patterned robes. But the longer you looked, the weirder he seemed, from the various ticking trinkets dangling around his neck, to the far off, distant look in his eye that Hermione often compared to Luna's.

"Oh, is it that time already?" he said, glancing to the clock, to his watch and then to her.

She smiled and nodded. "Yes. I finished the record update in section 12 yesterday, so is there anything immediate that needs doing before I start on 13?"

Mr Stebbins hummed and twirled around in his office chair, tapping his chin, until he suddenly stopped and smiled back at her. "Ah yes. As a matter of fact, some aurors visited the criminology section last night. They seemed to have done something to upset the organisation charms in row 148. Could you take a look at them please?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course. I do wish they'd be more careful," she sighed, raking her fingers through her wild hair. About once a week a group of them would barge inside the archive's peaceful halls and reap havoc, leaving food wrappers on tables, books with pages wrinkled and shelves disorganised. She often complained to Harry about it, but he assured her that he'd never go to the archives out of choice.

"Thank you, dear. Be sure to have some tea when you're done. My wife is bringing biscuits later," Mr Stebbins said as she turned to enter the darkened bookcase stacks.

That was another thing she liked about the archives. Mrs Stebbins visited at least once a day, usually bearing baked treats or neatly charmed lunches for the department's employees. As to be expected from the woman that'd put a ring on the odd Mr Stebbins's finger, she matched his...uniqueness. Hermione had a feeling that Mrs Stebbins was an Unspeakable, in fact. Mr Stebbins had once accidentally referred to his wife working in a department on a level lower than theirs and the department of mysteries was the only one that came to mind.

Nonetheless, her biscuits were very nice.

"Criminology," she said to herself as she walked. Level 5, Section 6, Rows 125 to 165 if she was remembering things correctly.

On the walk there, her mind drifted a little. She was tired from the weekend still. The order meetings were supposed to be for catching up and relaxing, but every time she went, they felt more and more like a chore. The order didn't feel the same anymore. After the war, there were so many empty seats around the dining room table where their friends had once sat. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Mad Eye...

Hermione stopped herself there and shook her head. Going down that line of thought was just going to lead her to misery.

Ron had been a pain as per usual. Since the break up, which had been very, very, very messy, things had been strained. Hermione could still vividly recall the night she'd come home early to visit Ron and had found him in bed with another witch. Merlin, it had hurt to have her trust broken in that way and some days she still found it difficult to look him in the eye. Meanwhile, Ronald was the ever oblivious arse who just continued acting like nothing was wrong. It didn't help that Molly kept dropping hinting comments.

"Oh, you were such a lovely couple."

"You would've had the sweetest babies."

"Ronald still cares for you so much."

Hermione was over him and she just wanted to move on without him in her life.

The main issue was Harry. After the break up, Harry had been forced into a balancing act between them. Hermione wasn't so cruel as to make him choose just one of them, but it meant that they still crossed paths more than she'd like. Harry was her family though, the closest thing she had to a brother. Her only family what with her parents still in Australia...where they'd likely remain.

She shook her head and bit her lip, cursing her mind for going to those dark places. Upon looking up, she found herself beside row 145, so she walked along a little to 147. The mess that met her made her want to curse the fool that'd created it. The books were whizzing around, crashing into each other and slotting into the wrong places as they desperately tried to rearrange themselves.

"_Finite_," she said with a wave of the wand, flinching as the books immediately dropped to the ground in a crumpled pile. "Oh for Merlin's sake."

The archive's shelves were charmed to automatically organise themselves in alphabetical order, but clearly the aurors that'd visited last had done something to bugger it up.

"Time to put my mastery to work, I suppose," she muttered under her breath, rolling up the sleeves of her robes.

The process was a long one. Each book was individually tagged with a individual tracking spell that was then bound into a matrix of alphabetical sorting spells and topped off with a conditional levitation spell. By the time the shelves neatly arranged themselves back into place, Hermione felt a cup of tea and a break was in order.

Back down at the front, Mr Stebbins was already boiling a kettle in the staff room. As Hermione entered, she smiled at him and then to the woman sat beside him.

"Morning, Mrs Stebbins," she greeted.

The older witch had dark hair bound back and an angular face devoid of softness. Nonetheless, Mrs Stebbins flashed her a smile. "Good morning, Hermoine. Would you care for a biscuit?" she asked, waving her hand to a tray that floated towards Hermione.

"What are they today?" she asked, picking up one of the golden treats.

"A muggle recipe, white chocolate and cranberry cookies. You like them, don't you dearest?" Mrs Stebbins glanced at her husband who had been staring off into the distant.

He suddenly blinked, returning to earth to take the kettle off the heat. "Oh yes, definitely my favourite one this week."

Hermione took a bite and sent Mrs Stebbins a thumbs up as she chewed the sweet delight. Her parents would've insisted she brushed her teeth after eating it. "Mmm. Yes, I really like these. Just hits the spot."

Once the tea was made, Mrs Stebbins only hung around long enough to gulp down her mug, kiss her husband on the cheek and bid them a hasty farewell.

Hermione and her boss sat in silence as they took their break. She had a book on her knee. It was quite an exciting volume that Harry had given her for her birthday on mixed magical arts. She lost track of time as she scanned over lines of text and intricate diagrams. Her fingers itched to turn each page and before she knew it, she'd lost track of time and her tea was mostly gone.

Mr Stebbins glanced down at one of his trinkets and paused, placing his cup on the coaster. "Ah. We have a guest coming in. I believe he's here for a book I put aside earlier. Could you handle this one, Hermione?"

Hermione emerged from her book, downed the dregs of her drink and nodded. "Where is it?"

"Under the front desk, middle self."

She left the staff room and ducked under the desk, searching for the right item through the disorganised clutter of parchment and boxes. As Hermione searched, she heard the visitor arrive with the cool tapping of even strides.

"Give me a second! I'm just looking for your book," she said without pausing her search. The visitor said nothing in return, so she hurried herself. With a triumphant gasp, she found the tome on top of a stack of files.

_British weeds and Celtic traditions. For SS._ The note attached to the front said. She lifted the book onto the desk and pushed herself to her feet. As soon as she looked at the visitor though, she almost fell down again.

Dark robes lined in buttons. Greasy black hair. Large, hooked nose. It was Severus-fucking-Snape of all people.

"Prof- Sir! Hello," she gasped, eyes wide and cheeks hot as she realised she'd been caught crawling around on the ground by the surly man.

The wizard pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow at her. With his long, translucently pale fingers, he pulled the book across the desk and glanced over the title with an eyebrow slightly quirked. "Granger. I take it you work here?" he said with his deep raspy voice. It had never been quite the same after the war.

She nodded dumbly. "Er, yes."

Snape sneered slightly. "Blast. I'll never be free of you conniving Gryffindors," he grumbled, taking up the quill and scratching his name into the archive records. Before he managed to make his escape, Mr Stebbins appeared.

"Severus, it's good seeing you!" he greeted with his usual airy disposition.

Surprisingly, Snape didn't sneer, he didn't even glare at the other man. "Claude. It's been a while. I wasn't aware you had taken on a new member of staff."

The shorter man just smiled and wrung his hands. "Oh yes, Hermione has been such a massive help. It's lovely having someone with a good head on their shoulders around. Wait, before you leave!" Mr Stebbins dove back into the staff room, her and Snape sharing a slightly confused look. Neither of them had the chance to say anything more before he emerged again, this time with a small bundle tied up in a napkin. "Take these and be sure to eat them," he insisted, pushing them into Snape's arms. "You're far too thin and we can't have you neglecting your meals."

It might've been the light, but Hermoine could've sworn that Snape's cheeks had gone slightly pink from all the attention. He carefully deposited both the food and the book into his bag, moving mechanically as if he wanted the ground to swallow him up.

"I shall, Claude. Anyway, good day to you," he said. He then glanced over to Hermione. "Granger." His voice was terse, but he didn't stick around, leaving in a flurry of billowing black robes.


End file.
